


The Unimpeachable Blanket

by Alyaludi



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cuddling, F/F, Fluff, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyaludi/pseuds/Alyaludi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have a system for times like this, times when Connie's too busy to sleep. That system is the Blanket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unimpeachable Blanket

It’s actually a fucking game these days.

CT’s got her glasses on, looking unbearably—nope, they don’t use the ‘a’ word, so call it _serious_ and _professional,_ despite the pajamas. She’s got her legs tucked under her, leaning against the arm of the couch as she frowns down at her datapad.

South’s waiting for Connie to put her mug down. Wouldn’t want to make a mess, after all. Okay, maybe she has _before,_ and wound up sleeping on that very couch for a week after running Connie’s hand under cold water while getting glared at. There wasn’t a rule _then._

This angle, lurking beside the doorway to the kitchen, is perfect. Connie’ll expect any approach from the hallway behind her, rather than from the side where she’ll catch the motion in her periphery—which is a risk South’s gotta take. The door-less doorway gives the illusion of openness, while having just enough space between the edge of the frame and the counter to hide, say, a full-grown woman and her weapon of choice.

Connie’s still scrolling through the pad one-handed, frowning, with her tea in the other hand. But any minute now—

There it is. Connie bumps the hot mug into her nose reaching up to adjust her glasses. She scowls at the mug—again, they do _not_ use the a-word, even for that expression and the way Connie’s nose wrinkles up and she looks like the mug has personally offended her by being as hot as its contents—and reaches to set it on the coffee table beside her while she adjusts the glasses on the bridge of her nose. She could just get new frames, ones that haven’t been bent back into shape one or two times too many after being stepped on or rolled over or, on one memorable occasion that left a couple tiny lines of bruises on South’s ass, fucked on.

Glasses adequately positioned for another few minutes’ worth of reading, Connie reaches for her mug again. Before her hand touches it, South _moves._

Spinning out of cover, it takes South all of two seconds to cross the distance of their little living room. Connie sees her coming and goes to stand, but South’s too fast for her.

One knee on the couch, South falls on top of Connie, the Blanket strategically spread.

Connie tries to kick South, swearing muffled under the thick crochet, but South uses her position to tuck the edges of the Blanket around Connie’s shoulders. She waits for the smaller woman to stop struggling.

“Fine, you win, now get this out of my face.” Connie grumbles.

South is not so easily fooled. With practiced movements she bundles Connie up—Connie starts swearing again—and then throws her girlfriend-burrito face down over one shoulder, hooking one arm around Connie’s knees to keep her balanced.

“This is so fucking stupid. I should at least get to watch your ass if you’re going to carry me like this.”

“Hey, I’m missing _your_ ass, too.”

“No sex once the Blanket has been invoked. Your rules.” Connie says. She says it just for spite, South’s sure.

“I wasn’t even thinking about it.” South says. She was. “You just got to relax, _honey.”_

The twitching aborted motion from inside the blanket is Connie’s attempt to knee her in the nose. South pats her ass affectionately with her free hand.

“That report is late.” Connie’s grumbling, but she doesn’t actually demand to be returned to the couch. Still, South tosses her on the bed with a little more force than necessary.

“Yeah, I know.” South flops herself down next to the burrito of Connie. “By a whole day, whatever will they do without it.” She tugs the top part of the blanket down enough to see Connie’s face—well, most of it. “Gonna admit defeat?”

“Yeah.” Connie sighs way too dramatically, but even with her mouth still hidden by the blanket South can tell she smiles when South drops a kiss on her nose. “Let me up, though, I at least need to brush my teeth.”

“Yeah, okay.” South gallantly helps Connie find the edges of the blanket and get herself untangled. This time she does get to watch Connie’s ass, as she’s going to the bathroom; Connie shoots her a look, though, and grins ever so sweetly as she kicks the door closed behind her.

South pouts at the blank door for a second before rolling off the bed. She wanders back into the living room, then back to the bedroom. She knocks on the bathroom door.

“Yeah, sure.” Connie answers.

South goes to open it at the same time Connie does, and almost fumbles the cup of tea, which would have made all her careful ambush planning useless. Connie looks at her then looks at the tea, and scowls around the toothbrush in her mouth.

“’s gonna ‘aste all weird a’er the too’pas’e’.” She spits and rinses, but accepts the mug anyway. They trade places, well used to maneuvering in the little space. South drops a kiss on top of Connie’s head as they pass, and Connie pretends to be offended at the reminder of her inferior stature, as usual.

Connie walks out of the bedroom with her mug, and South rolls her eyes. It takes half a minute for Connie to come back.

“Where’s my pad?”

“Why?” South doesn’t actually do innocent well, but she doesn’t care either.

“I can read at least until you come to bed.”

“No you can’t.” South takes her own toothbrush out because she has a point, dammit. “You won’t _sleep_ if you keep reading. You need to fucking sleep, Con.” Years ago something like the surprise of the Blanket game would’ve kept her from sleeping with adrenaline, but now? Now they check the locks when they come inside and as long as it’s inside the little apartment, nothing can really scare them.

“I will! I yield to the power of the fucking Blanket, so I’ll stop working, but I _need_ to finish that report—”

“We’ll set the alarm for half an hour earlier, okay?”

“Right, because me getting up early always works.”

“I’ll make you caffeinated tea?”

Connie yawns, blinks. Pouts. “Fine.”

South grins and goes back to the sink to finish brushing.

“Ass.” Connie grumbles.

“Thanks,” South leers at her own reflection, easily able to hear Connie’s indignant huff even across the room. By the time South’s done with her own rinse-and-spit, Connie’s tucked herself under the covers, barely upright enough to sip her tea. South goes out to the living room again, because she’s a fucking good girlfriend (and it’s about ten steps anyway). She retrieves the datapad from under the couch cushion—probably a good thing Connie’d come straight back instead of sitting down—and brings it back, circling to Connie’s side of the bed to put it on her nightstand, propped against her lamp. “Not tonight.”

“Mmm-mm.”

South resists the temptation to just crawl over Connie, and circles back around to her own side of the bed. She feels like doing something—wrestling or fucking or going for a run. She’s not tired. But after invoking the Blanket, South’s obligated to stay with Connie—and not cheat and get up once she falls asleep, either. Them’s the rules of the Blanket.

“My eyes were getting kind of achy, anyway,” Connie admits.

South knows; she’d been adjusting her glasses every five minutes, then every four, then every three. Speaking of— South pauses with one hand on the covers. They aren’t on Connie’s face, and they aren’t on her nightstand…

Connie raises an eyebrow as South picks up the Blanket, then drops it again when no glasses fall out. “Trying to achieve a better lump?”

“Hang on.” South ducks out to the living room, checking the hall as she goes—but they’ve both gone through here, would’ve seen even the thin frames against the dull white carpet. “Do _you_ have your glasses?” She asks, ducking back into the bedroom.

Connie frowns.

“Fuck it, they’ll turn up tomorrow,” South decides. She’s not letting Connie get up again, and she _saw_ her girlfriend’s hand twitch towards the covers. South clambers into bed, then reaches down to the Blanket, shoving it around into something resembling a spread.

“It’ll get too hot.”

South huffs, but flings the top half down over the other half anyway. The function of the Blanket is over once they’re _in_ bed, anyway.

Something clatters against the wall, dislodged by the force of her flinging the blanket.

South looks at Connie.

Connie looks at South.

“Goddamnit, can’t we just remember where they are and…?”

Connie smiles and raises both eyebrows, expectant.

South pushes back the covers and climbs back out. She even takes them back to Connie’s nightstand herself, putting them with the datapad, and circles all the way around the bed _again_.

“ _Now_ can I turn the lights off?”

“Sure,” Connie says.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” South hasn’t even pulled up the covers yet, at least, so she just swings her legs over the side of the bed again.

Connie _could_ turn on the lamp without even reaching far, but no, she lets South stumble back to bed in the dark. Not that there’s far to stumble, but _still_.

South’s just got her head on her pillow when Connie turns her bedside lamp on. South cranes her neck around to stare at her, because seriously? But Connie’s just finding a clear space to set her empty mug. A moment, and the light clicks off.

Connie squirms down under the blankets, then tucks her knees up against South’s thighs. South shivers at the skin-to-skin contact, but the rules of the Blanket are clear: it is invoked when sleep must trump all else. So even Connie’s hand sliding over her side to tuck against her stomach must be… not ignored, but enjoyed without anticipation.

As for the little kiss Connie presses against the top of South’s shoulder-blade before tucking her face against South’s spine, well, she can’t very well say ‘thank you’ after grumbling so much, can she?

So South forces herself to relax, because even if on her own she’d love to go pound out some energy against a bag or the pavement, she’s not alone, and thank fucking god for that. She’ll fall asleep soon enough, anyway, as she concentrates on the rhythm of Connie’s breath—already steady, deep, and even.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing a LOT of South/CT, but that's in an AU that's going ON AND ON so none of it's ready to post. I wanted to _post_ something during Femslash February, and so-- this happened! Based on a real life Blanket with magical sleep-inducing powers. No, really.
> 
> Also, I don't use 'Connie' instead of 'CT' lightly-- it's my headcanon that she switches to CT in canon not because she really thinks 'Connie' sounds childlike, but as a way to create emotional distance between her and the co-workers she plans to abandon or betray (depending on how you look at it). So in personal relationships where she doesn't need that distance, she still uses Connie.


End file.
